


Wait for Me to Come Home

by glittering_git



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Community: hd_erised, HP: EWE, Holidays, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Hogwarts, post sex fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git
Summary: Draco might not like the Christmas holidays that much, but he sure does like Potter. If only he could admit that to Potter, or even to himself. A non-linear story about recognising what has been right in front of you the whole time, and maybe, just maybe, being happier because of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenclawsquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/gifts).



> I would like to start by thanking my wonderful beta, [ sabethea ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac), who did a lovely job of catching all of my mistakes and brit-picking, helping to make this story come together in a cohesive manner. I would also like to thank my lovely bestie, L, for always being there for me and my fanfic adventures. ravenclawsquill, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this fic! I tried my best to incorporate at least a few of the things that you asked for—I really liked your statement about what you love most about Harry/Draco and tried to capture some of that here. A huge thank you to the mods of this fest for doing such an amazing job and for their continued patience, encouragement, and kindness! Title is from Ed Sheeran’s _Photograph_.

Draco huffed indignantly and banged the door open to his small, cramped office in the Misuse of Magic that he had the misfortune to share with Potter.

“Why, may I ask, is this atrocious thing on our door?” Draco spat, pointing angrily at the festive green and red now adorning the space below their names that had previously been pristine, no colour other than white visible upon its smooth surface. “I thought I had made it very clear that I am not, nor will I ever be, in the mood for Christmas décor.” 

Potter’s eyes had been getting wider and wider as he listened to Draco, and now he held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“For Merlin’s sake Malfoy, I promise that it wasn’t me. Trust me; you have made your objections to the holiday very clear. I know after trying to set-up that small Christmas tree in our office last year, and you gave me a bloody hard time, you wanker.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “I learned my lesson after you sent that blasted Stinging Hex my way.” 

Draco smirked at Potter, fondly remembering the way he’d leapt like his bollocks had caught fire.

“To whom can I send my strongly worded letter so that they can know of my displeasure with this _thing_?”

“I believe that would be our supervisor, Ms. Merlo, and she probably knows your opinion on the subject well enough. In fact, I’d wager that this entire floor of the ministry knows.”

“To what are you referring?” Draco queried indignantly. All of his opinions were completely valid and founded on reason, thank you very much. 

Potter squinted at him, as if trying to determine if Draco was having him on or not.

“I think it was the yelling you did when Ron tried to put that singing reindeer on my desk.”

“That was a perfectly logical response to the atrocious sounds coming out of its mouth. Who wants to listen to the sad story of someone’s grandma getting run over by a reindeer?” Draco had been horrified to discover that Muggles listened to that song for fun—that there were even those moofie things that Potter had dragged him to see once or twice.

“If you say so, Malfoy,” Potter said dubiously. “I just left it up because I wanted to see your reaction.” Draco aimed a Stinging Jinx, but Potter was already moving quickly out the door, fortunately taking that _thing_ with him as he went.

\--------------------

On this cold and rainy Halloween in Hampstead, Draco found himself at a coffee shop, trying to warm himself up from the cold. He ordered a black cup of coffee and took a seat at the table closest to the window, where he could look out at the street and see the rain coming down in sheets. Draco covertly cast a Tempus, quickly looking around the small café to make sure that no Muggles saw him, and realized that Potter was, not unsurprisingly, running late.

It might have seemed like a cliché, but Halloween was by far Draco’s favourite Muggle holiday—in fact it was the only one that he really enjoyed celebrating. It might have had something to do with his affinity for sweets, but Draco wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, and sometimes not even then. Draco had discovered the holiday during the period immediately after the war, where he felt more comfortable in the anonymity of the Muggle world than the notoriety of the wizarding one. He was in Covent Garden, out on a lark, when he noticed that many of the pubs had festive decorations up. There were orange and white lights flickering softly on storefront awnings, and grinning pumpkins glowing at him from windowsills. After asking around a bit, he found out about the existence of the holiday and always made it a point to enjoy the festivities somewhere in London. 

Draco was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a bell twinkling. He looked up and spotted a familiar head of dark hair framed by the glass of the door at the front of the shop. When Potter opened the door, a gust of cool air and a bit of the wet rain followed him in, and when he arrived at Draco’s table, his hair was dripping onto his soaked mac. 

“Sorry, sorry, I was planning to be here on time, but then Hermione Firecalled me because Rose wouldn't settle down and I can usually get her to sleep. So I Flooed over there and by then it was already time to meet you, and I was predictably running late,” he grinned sheepishly.

“I don't know why I even bother anymore.” Draco held up his hands in a why-me-Merlin gesture. “You're a hopeless cause. You can’t even use a proper _Impervious_ to keep your ridiculous hair dry. Although,” Draco paused, considering, “I’m not sure it matters one way or the other—your hair looks like a disaster normally.”

“Prat. I resent that sentiment. And excuse me, but I like to call it just-fucked.” He reached up to shake out the water, splattering Draco, and proceeding to make it look even more like he’d been _up to something_. “Besides, who are you calling hopeless?” Potter asked indignantly. “Remember the last time you were in Muggle London and you couldn't figure out the Tube?”

“In my defense, I was pissed, and if I remember correctly, also carrying chips, so I still standby the fact that I could have done it if circumstances were slightly different.”

Potter gave him a look that said that he didn’t believe him in the slightest, but that he would humour him nonetheless, and that made Draco’s insides start to squirm a little at the fondness of the gesture. 

“Well, since it’s your favourite holiday, I’m not going to argue with you, but bear in mind that I’m restraining my natural instinct to insult you.”

“Thanks a lot, Potter.” Draco smirked. “It really makes me feel good inside that I’ve managed to stop you from being an arse for once in your life.”

“You’re calling me an arse?” Potter gaped at Draco incredulously. “If anyone’s an arse here, it’s most definitely not me. Do an invisibility cloak, a train, and a broken nose ring any bells?”

Draco stared hard at Potter. While their friendship had been progressing along quite well, they still hadn’t managed to quite share a laugh about their checkered past, but Draco had apologized for his abhorrent behaviour at Hogwarts, and Potter had been his usual hero self. But if Potter was going to joke about it, than Draco wasn’t going to stop him. 

“It sounds like the start of one of those horrible Muggle jokes,” Draco commented. “And please, that was not an invitation to continue; I don’t think my sensitive ears can handle it.”

“You only think that they’re horrible because you don’t understand them. But don’t worry, I’m just going to leave it there, because as I’ve said before, it’s your night. So what will be doing tonight?” Draco was glad that Potter had finally asked, because he had planned an evening full of festive activities, and he was excited to get started. 

\--------------------

The Slytherin common room was bedecked in the festive colours of the season, the green light of the lake filtering through the window and the dark-green furniture complementing the bright, blood-red accents that had been carefully placed around the room by the elves. A small tree stood in the far corner of the room, its white lights twinkling, silver baubles adorning its every branch. Although not a fan of the holiday, Draco could see why others might enjoy it so much. Objectively, the decorations could be beautiful, and the abundant finery was resplendent.

He was wearing his nicest dress robes, black with lace detailing along the edges, and he felt like a proper Malfoy. He looked around the room, noting with distaste those who had chosen not to wear their nicest robes, even though that was the tradition of the annual celebration held for Slytherin House. Although Severus never came to these events himself, he always helped the seventh years procure funds from the Hogwarts Board of Trustees. Even though he had never talked about it with his Head of House, Draco thought that Severus wanted to make the Christmas season at Hogwarts a time of merriment for his House, because it was lacking in so many of the students’ homes. Much like his own parents, many others took off during the coldest month of the year, leaving their children at home in the care of house-elves. 

“Draco, are your parents going to the Bahamas this Christmas season?” Pansy asked, from her perch on the plush sofa closest to the roaring flames of the fire. 

“No, Mother and Father decided that that was old news. They wanted to try something new, so they chose Bali this year. I’m not sure what’s so enticing about warm beaches and sand, and having to use Sunblock Charms—it just sounds unpleasant if you ask me. I’m glad that they don’t take me along.” This wasn’t the exact truth, but Draco would never admit that, even to himself. It was better to pretend that he didn’t even want to go, as if these trips were below him. “I’ll be spending my time working on my studies, and perhaps Severus will drop by for a visit as well.” 

“You’re more than welcome to come over to my house, but I have to warn you that my mother just found a new beau.” Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. “He’s better looking than the last one, but he’s even older, if that’s possible.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I think I’ll pass.” The last time Draco had spent the holidays with the Parkinsons, he’d felt incredibly uncomfortable with the way Ms. Parkinson’s boyfriend of the time had stared at him, like he was something to eat. Draco shuddered internally. “I’ll be fine by myself at home—in fact, I’m looking forward to some peace and solitude.”

“But I’ll miss you,” Pansy whined, sticking her lower lip out in a way that was unbecoming on her. Her eyes quickly changed, a sharp glint alighting in them as she looked up. Draco was afraid; it was never a good sign when she made such an expression. “But never mind about that, look. It’s mistletoe.” She gestured above them, where in fact, a small sprig of mistletoe hovered, looking deceptively innocent. 

Draco quickly tried to back away, because he did not, absolutely _did not_ want to be forced to snog Pansy. But since it was magical mistletoe, there was no escaping it once it had chosen its victims. While Draco had been trying to escape the mistletoe’s grasp, Pansy had been following Draco, reaching towards him and grabbing hold of his robes.

“Pansy, please, these are my best robes.” He removed her hands forcibly and continued backing away. She continued to follow along, as did the mistletoe. 

“You can’t avoid it forever, Draco,” she admonished. “You know it won’t let you leave until we snog.” Draco let out a long exhale because he knew she was right. 

He stopped abruptly, and leaned in for a quick peck on the corner of Pansy’s lips, but at that precise moment, she turned her head and their lips met in a chaste kiss. It was a little bit wet, but most of all, it was uncomfortable. Draco felt like Pansy’s lips were too big, and quickly shoved her away. 

She looked up at him with a hurt expression on her face, but Draco couldn’t focus on that. The kiss had felt wrong—it hadn’t felt like Blaise described it to him. It had felt gross and wet, and Draco didn’t ever want to do that again…with Pansy at least. Unbidden, an image of Potter’s face from their last altercation rose in his mind, Potter’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and his lips a bitten-red like he’d been worrying them between his teeth. He probably had—it was something Draco had noticed that Potter did when he was nervous. Draco quickly shook his head to get rid of the image. This wasn’t about Potter, it was about why that kiss had felt so wrong. 

“I’m sorry; I have to go.” Draco ran out of the common room.

\--------------------

His fingers couldn’t seem to stop themselves; they were drawn like a magnet over and over to the bird’s nest on Potter’s head. It was so incredibly soft—Draco didn’t know how anyone who put no effort whatsoever into haircare could have hair that felt so nice to touch.  
“You know, for as much as you complain about my hair, you certainly seem to like it a lot,” Potter whispered into the pillow, the words escaping through the small gaps where breath escaped between spit-moistened lips.

A warm, squirmy feeling started to spread inside Draco, and to avoid thinking about what it might mean, he smacked Potter on the head.

“For as much as you talk, you’d think that you would make more sense.” Draco tried to maintain his gruff facade, but found that he couldn’t manage it for long.

“Oi! What was that for?” Potter asked, affronted. “I thought we were having a decent time. It sure _seemed_ like you were having a good time earlier, if those noises you were making were anything to go by.” Draco buried his face in Potter’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of sweat and the clean, mint smell of the soap he used to wash. “And, this also seems to indicate a good time.” He thrust his hips back, and Draco’s softening cock slowly began to slip out. Draco pushed up on his elbows and pulled all the way out, his spilt release making the process quite easy, and rolled off Potter’s back, landing with an _oomph_ on his side. 

Potter turned his head from where it was buried in the pillows to look at Draco, but Draco quickly averted his eyes, following the strong lines of Potter’s back to the curve of his arse, his arsehole leaking Draco’s come. Draco watched, fascinated, as it slowly ran out, the viscous liquid creating a shiny trail down the sloped curve of Potter’s buttocks. He reached with his finger to catch the drop, and gently pushed it back into Potter’s hole, which was loose from their earlier activities. 

“What are you doing?” Potter squirmed, trying to dislodge Draco’s finger, but Draco didn’t move it. “Stop staring at it.” Potter’s cheeks flushed red. “I won’t be ready for another go for a little while, so you don’t need to do that again.”

“But what if I want to?” Draco teased, gently removing his finger and wiping it on the crimson sheets. Potter grumbled, and reached a hand over to Draco’s chin, lifting it to look at him. He tried to manoeuvre Draco’s face closer to his own, but Draco reached up and stopped him. 

“No, no, Potter,” Draco chastised. “We’re doing this again, are we? We agreed that this would just be casual, just fucking. In fact, I’ve got to go visit Mother. And I’m incredibly sorry because I definitely wanted to go for another round.”

\--------------------

It had been an evening full of festive fun, involving all kinds of sweets that were orange and black, and Draco was feeling slightly, okay a little more than slightly, pissed on the various spirits he had consumed during the course of the night.

“Are you okay to Apparate?” Potter questioned, his intensely green eyes almost too much to look at in the half-light of the moon. Draco couldn’t quite manage to stop staring, and really, who could blame him? Potter was so bloody fit, and the alcohol only served to make him seem even more attractive. “I don’t want you to splinch yourself. You might not believe it,” Potter said earnestly, “but I do actually like you.” Because Potter liking him was just not acceptable, Draco flicked him hard on the head, swaying towards Potter as he did so. “Well,” Potter amended, grabbing hold of Draco’s shoulders to steady him, “I like you when you’re not being such an arse.” 

Draco decided that he could live with that sentiment. He could admit, if only to himself, that he sometimes was an arse to Potter because it felt natural and easy, and he didn’t have to focus on Potter’s damn bloody fitness. But while Draco could usually tamp down his rampant want of Potter while sober, it was much harder when he had had a few drinks. 

“But you like my arse,” Draco pouted, sticking his lower lip out and batting his eyelashes coquettishly. He’d caught Potter staring, at work when he had to bend over and pick something off the ground, or when he wore the pair of trousers that best showed off his assets. Draco watched, fascinated, as a deep red spread over Potter’s fine features, and he reached behind his ears to adjust his glasses. It was something that Draco noticed that Potter did when he was uncomfortable and nervous.

“Malfoy,” Potter began. “I think that you’re answering my question—you’re clearly not in a state to Apparate. You wouldn’t be saying things like that if you were,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I wouldn’t be saying them out loud,” Draco acknowledged. “But I’d be thinking them, and that’s almost the same thing.”

“Well, I’m going to Apparate you to your flat and then go home. I’m knackered.” With that, he stepped closer to Draco and wrapped his arms around his body, and Draco felt the world start spinning.

With a grunt, they landed in front of Draco's building in Camden. Draco was leaning even more heavily on Potter than before, as the Apparition had caused him to lose his center of balance.

“Won’t you come in for a drink?” Draco asked, fluttering his eyelids in what he thought to be a seductive manner. Potter didn’t seem to be affected, but instead, was supporting Draco’s body weight and staring straight ahead.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Potter mumbled, but since Draco was so close to him, he could hear what he was saying perfectly fine.

“But why not?” Draco whined. “I think it’s a perfectly splendid idea. What could go wrong?” Draco could think of a hundred things that might go right, if given the chance, but the tension was rising like the tide, and it needed to be broken one way or another. Potter glanced at Draco’s head resting on his shoulder, with a pained look on his face. That just meant that Draco had to convince him even more that coming in for drinks was a good idea. “You’re always talking at work how you want to see my flat, always saying that you think it’s going to be some poncy getup, all Slytherin green and silver. This is a limited time offer, Potter.” Draco’s words came out a bit slowly as he tried to wrap his leaden tongue over the crisp r and sibilant s sounds “If you don’t come with me now, you’ll just have to live forever in question of what it actually looks like inside.”

“Well, when you put it like that, Malfoy, I guess it would be remiss of me not to take you up on your offer.” And here Potter smiled softly to himself. “But you’re going to have to lead the way. Can you do that?” Potter asked, like Draco was an insolent child who needed reprimanding. With some difficulty, Draco was able to stand up without the aid of Potter, open the door to the building, and lead Potter to his flat on the second floor. Once they reached his flat, he fumbled for his wand and let the wards down so that Potter could enter, and then put them back up.

“Well, this is my humble abode,” Draco gestured grandly at his cosy living room, where the furniture was a deep forest green, a few shades darker than Slytherin green, thank you very much, Potter. 

“It’s much warmer than I thought it would be,” Potter observed, his eyes keen as he took in the room, seeking out the titbits of Draco’s life that were lying around. Although there weren’t many photos on display, Draco had done his best to make the space feel like his. There were knickknacks from his travels around the continent, and a fire glowed warmly in the fireplace. 

“It’s very comfy. Looks like a great place to spend time when it’s raining and cold and dreary, and you just want to watch the telly—well,” he amended, “if you had a telly.”

“I don’t know what I’d do with one of those tellyfisions,” Draco protested indignantly. 

“It’s relaxing, and there are loads of good shows that you haven’t even seen yet. I’ll have to show you one day.” Draco smiled to himself at the thought of spending a rainy day indoors with Potter by his side. “But now, I’m going to go back to my flat and get some rest.” For some reason, the thought of Potter leaving right now was not something that Draco could handle, so he had to convince him to stay. 

“But we never had those drinks,” Draco said. Potter started to protest, but when Draco sent him his best pout, Potter heaved a sigh and sunk down into the plush armchair closest to where they had been standing. An overwhelming happiness bubbled up in Draco at this admission, and in his slightly inebriated state, it became hard to contain and keep his usual mask in place. “What can I get you to drink?” 

“A Firewhisky, neat, would be great, thanks.” 

Draco made his way over to the bar cart that gleamed in the low light of the fire, and poured some of Ogden’s finest into two glasses and levitated one over to Potter, who reached out his hand and grasped the crystal-cut glass. He took a long draw, as if steeling himself for what was to come. Draco carried over his own glass, and took a seat in the chaise across from Potter.

\--------------------

Draco took a breath, held it, and exhaled slowly.

“Oh darling, don’t be so dramatic,” Pansy admonished. “It’s just Potter, and I know you’ve had a thing for Potter since before you even knew you were gay.” 

“Pans, that doesn’t even make sense.” Draco shook his head exasperatedly. “How could I like him even before I knew what it meant to like someone?”

“Well, I’m not saying it was sexual attraction”-- Pansy scrunched her nose in distaste-- “but I distinctly remember hearing something about ‘Potter’s stupid scar and his stupid broom,’ since our first year at Hogwarts.” 

Draco tried to suppress a blush from spreading across his face, but his features were so pale that he knew it was no use.

“But that doesn’t mean that I want you to interfere.” Draco protested. “I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“If by fine, you mean that you’re having mind-blowing sex, then yeah. But I thought you wanted more.”

“I don’t know what I want, Pans,” Draco complained. “I’m only 25, and I’ve lived my whole life thinking I was going to get married to some witch that my parents set me up with and have an heir, and not have to deal with actually finding anyone. And once I realised that I would not be accepting any type of life advice from my father ever again, I decided that I didn’t want to be in a relationship with anyone—that sex was only about the pleasure it could give me and nothing more. And you should know this better than anyone, considering that you had to live with me during my period of what you like to call my ‘self-exploration.’” 

Pansy shuddered briefly, and Draco couldn’t stop a smirk from spreading across his face. Those had been the good days, when he was 18 and just discovering what he liked—and he had experimented quite a bit. It was also when his libido was insatiable, and so life had been a whirlwind of beautiful boys and hook-ups. And if a majority of them had a bird’s nest of dark hair, then no one needed to know.

“But even if you can’t admit it to yourself, I know that this time it’s different. And I’m going to do my best to help you. Like now for example. Look who decided to show up.” Draco looked towards the door to Pansy and Neville’s flat, already knowing who would be standing there. In a nice pair of black trousers and a forest green button-down that brought out his eyes, the Golden Boy himself was standing in all his festive glory, and it was all Draco could do not to be caught staring. 

“Draco,” Pansy murmured, “you’re practically drooling.” Draco quickly shut his mouth and looked pointedly away. “You can’t avoid him forever. In fact, look, he’s coming over.” It was true, and Draco quickly plastered a smile on his face.

“Pansy, thank you for inviting me.” Potter leaned in for a quick peck on her cheek.

“Of course, Harry. It would have been very rude of us not to invite our very own Saviour of the Wizarding World.” Draco found the red that suffused Potter’s cheeks fascinating to watch. “Oh, it looks like Neville needs some help with the music. I’ll talk to you both later.” Pansy gave Draco a pointed look, clearly indicating their previous conversation. Draco chose to ignore her.

“I’m honestly surprised to see you here, Malfoy,” Potter said. “With how much you dislike all things related to Christmas.”

“I’m only here as an obligation to Pansy.” Draco sniffed indignantly. “Trust me, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t be within 100 metres of a Christmas decoration.”

“But look at all the fun everyone seems to be having,” Potter pointed out, gesturing around the room. It was true—everyone was dressed up in reds and greens and golds, their cheeks flushed high with colour, smiles lighting their faces, and it felt like something more than just a normal party.

“That’s no reason for me to like it. Besides,” Draco started, just to be contrary.

“Hey, Harry.” Draco was interrupted by the Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic herself, Ms. soon-to-be Hermione Granger-Weasley. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hey ‘Mione,” Potter greeted, bending down to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “What did you need me for? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Sorry, Draco” Granger apologized. Well, she insisted he call her Hermione, but even after all this time, it still felt weird. “But I’ve got to steal Harry for just a moment.” Draco smiled indulgently.

“It’s fine. I was just heading off to grab a drink anyway.” 

Grang— _Hermione_ smiled her thanks, grabbed Potter by the elbow, and dragged him off towards the kitchen. Draco decided that he really did need that drink, especially if he was going to have to spend more time with Potter than their usual hours at work and more recently, the fantastic fucking. He headed over towards the bar, where Ginevra and Luna looked to be deep in conversation. A house-elf, who was compensated for its services, as the law now required, stood waiting to take guests’ orders. Draco put in a request for his favourite elf-made red. 

“But I just don’t understand why they’ve suspended you for the next two Harpies’ games,” Luna exclaimed. “It didn’t seem like a fair call, in my opinion.”

“It was an unfair call,” Ginny recalled, shaking her head exasperatedly. “The ref was definitely biased towards the Falcons, and yet no one in Magical Games and Sports seems to think anything was amiss.”

“Ah, you’d be talking about Mister Cooghan,” Draco stated. Both Ginny and Luna turned towards him and nodded their heads in tandem. “I didn’t see the match, but I know if you were playing the Falcons, it was an unfair call. Everyone knows it’s a problem, but no one wants to do anything about it.”

“I’ve talked to Ron, but he says that everything’s clean, at least from what he can tell.”

“You’re clearly such a good player that you present a real threat to the Falcons’ chances this year. And you’ll be back in the League before you know it.” Draco wasn’t really used to giving pep talks, but even he could admit that Ginevra was quite a good Quidditch player.

“Thanks, Malfoy.” Ginevra smiled at him. “You’re not so bad yourself, from what Harry tells me about those Seeker’s games you two play.”

“Well, Potter certainly can hold his own, but I manage to get the better of him now and then.” Although it had been a difficult lesson to learn, Draco realized that people didn't necessarily appreciate his haughty, high-handed manner, even if what he was saying was most often true.

“I’m sure you both gain the upper hand now and again,” Luna inserted gently, her eyes twinkling. “Quidditch can get quite rough at times, and you’re both so evenly matched that you both end up topping.” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed at the implication, but she couldn’t know, not unless Pansy had gossiped, that cow.

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean,” he huffed indignantly.

Luna had the nerve to continue staring at him, a soft smile lighting her pale features.

“He’s heading over here now—I’m sure he would agree with me.”

“What would I agree with?” Potter asked, coming up to stand beside Draco. 

Luna started to answer, but then was distracted by something above their heads. Draco’s stomach sank—the Christmas season, party festivities, and bloody Pansy—it could only mean one thing. He tried to back away, but he and Potter were already in the grasp of the mistletoe. A small smile was breaking over Potter’s face, the git, as he realised what was happening. This was something that Potter was always trying to get Draco to do, but it wasn’t going to happen like this, now. Draco had learned a bit about mistletoe since that fateful kiss during 4th year, so he knew that any kind of kiss would release him and Potter, so he quickly reached out and grabbed Potter’s hand and quickly pressed his lips to it. 

Potter’s eyes flashed in quick disappointment, but he quickly recovered and placed a hand on Draco’s hip, pulling their bodies close. 

“I’m going to let that one slide—this time—Malfoy,” he whispered. “But you had better be prepared for the next time mistletoe is around. I will snog you, one way or the other. And don’t try to deny that you don’t want to; I’ve seen the way that you can’t stop looking at my lips.” 

Draco looked away quickly, trying to find something else to focus on. It was true, though. Potter’s lips always looked so damn kissable, especially right after they had been wrapped around his cock. 

“Your cock has already been up my arse, so I don’t understand what the big problem is anyway,” Potter continued. 

Draco swallowed at the intensity of Potter’s words. They thrilled him, riling up his insides like no one ever had before. 

“It’s not about the snogging, you know that, Potter.” Draco sighed exasperatedly. “It’s about what it represents.” 

“I know, Malfoy. But this has become something more than just casual fucking, and I thought you felt that way too.” 

Draco did feel that way. But he couldn’t even admit it to himself, much less to Potter.

\--------------------

He’d never seen so much golden skin on display, bronze and glistening in the soft light, which cast gentle shadows over his face and body. Draco let his eyes travel down the length of Potter’s body, starting with his messy, just-fucked, bedhead hair, to his broad, muscled shoulders, his lightly dusted pink nipples, taut stomach, and lean legs. Draco avoided looking at the juncture where leg met hip, because although this was his idea, he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge that this was actually going to happen between him and Potter. It had been under the surface for ages, but he still wasn’t ready to admit how much he wanted it.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and stare?” Potter questioned, eyebrows raised in a challenge. That was not okay, and with a growl—Draco launched himself at Potter, bringing his mouth to Potter’s smooth skin, where collarbone met shoulder, tracing the line with his tongue.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Potter breathed, his breath warm on Draco’s cheeks. “Are we really doing this?”

“What does it look like?” Draco asked, pushing Potter towards the bed. “The answer is yes. Yes, we’re going to do this. So long as we’re agreed that nothing will change; that this,” and here Draco indicated between himself and Potter, “is nothing more than two friends who just happen to shag on the side.” 

“Yes—” Potter gasped loudly as Draco took the soft areola into his mouth and sucked gently. “I agree. I don’t want this to fuck up our friendship. I don’t think that I could stand to work with you if we weren’t, well, whatever we are. Are we clear?” and here Potter gently pushed Draco’s head away, his green eyes boring into Draco’s eyes intently.

“Yes, Potter, you sap,” Draco grumbled. “Now can we please move onto the fucking?”

“Calm down, there’s no need to get tetchy.”

“There is when you’re not making good on what you said you would do earlier.”

“Oh, do you mean this?” Potter grinned mischievously, grabbing hold of Draco’s shoulders and pushing and turning them so that Draco ended up on the bed with Potter holding up his body a few centimetres above Draco’s.

“No, I mean this,” and Draco grabbed hold of Potter’s hip and flipped him over, so that he was the one on top. Something flickered in Potter’s eyes at the motion, and he brought his hands to Draco’s hips, holding them in place.

“Now this is something I could get behind.” And he bloody winked at Draco. “If you know what I mean?”

“For Salazar’s sake, Potter.” Draco exhaled on a huff. “We’re not here to joke and be chummy, but rather, I thought that there might be more of this.” -- and here he moved his hips down pointedly. Potter moaned breathily at the first contact, and Draco slowly continued the motion— the friction just enough to make him want more. Draco looked down at Potter’s flushed face, reveling in how it felt to be here, now, with the Golden Boy of all people, like this.

“Malfoy,” Potter groaned. “I need more.” He gasped as Draco started thrusting down in earnest.

“Like this?”

“Yes, but more like this.” And here Potter pushed Draco off, and began fumbling with the buttons on Draco’s no-longer crisp light-blue button down. Draco quickly got the message and hastily shoved Potter’s hands out of the way, making quick work of the buttons, and tossing the shirt to the floor. He also fumbled with his grey trousers, pushing them off his hips and kicking them to the floor. He returned to their previous position, clad only in his silk pants. 

“Wait, you forgot one thing.” Potter’s fingers were tickling the edge of his hips and moving slowly downwards to where Draco was burning with an aching need. He gently pushed the thin fabric past Draco’s hip bones, where it began to bunch around Draco’s knees. “A little help here, Malfoy.” 

Draco grunted in annoyance, but pushed himself up once again, kicked off his pants, and was back on Potter with a sound low in his throat.

“Now that that’s taken care of, I want to fuck you into this mattress.” 

Potter’s eyes became an even darker green, the black of his pupils spreading outwards through the irises. He nodded his agreement, and Draco began to lick those edible collarbones, making his way downwards, stopping at Potter’s dusty pink nipples, giving them a hard suck and a soft nibble, admiring the way Potter’s spine arched at the gesture. He brushed butterfly light kisses over his abdomen, each movement further inciting the need growing inside him, originating from his groin and spreading throughout his entire body. He followed the trail of dark hair on Potter’s quivering stomach, nuzzling into the juncture where leg met hip, and inhaling deeply. Potter began thrusting up, seeking friction to help relieve his throbbing prick, but Draco wasn’t helping him.

“Malfoy, please,” Potter whispered. “I need something more.” 

Overwhelming desire flooded Draco’s body at the breathy plea, and he grabbed a hold of Potter’s arse none too gently.

“Turn over,” he all but growled, his voice getting stuck in his dry throat, becoming drier as Potter quickly shoved Draco off and planted his arse in the air. 

Draco couldn’t believe that they were doing this—after everything, after their history—that they had managed to be here. He almost came right then and there, but managed to just stop himself at the thought of what it would be like to be _inside_. “How much preparation do you need?”

“Two fingers,” Potter grunted, sounding strained. 

Draco quickly cast the preparation spells, conjured lube, spread it over his index and middle finger, and gently reached towards Potter’s hole. He rubbed around the rim with one finger, inserting it slowly, listening to Potter’s breathy reactions. He began to move it in circles, seeking out that spot that made Potter positively squirm. A second finger quickly joined the first, and after a few moments, Potter ground out a desperate plea. Draco spread some lube on his own aching cock, grabbed hold of Potter’s hips, and gently pressed in.

It felt like the tightest heat that he’d ever experienced, and it took all of his willpower not to come right then. With measured movements, he pressed further in, taking deep breaths as if to stall the inevitable. Potter’s hands reached furiously towards his own prick, but Draco stopped them. “Not yet.” 

Potter whimpered.

“Then get a move on it, Malfoy. Don’t just sit there.” 

That was the only motivation that Draco needed, and soon he was thrusting faster, his actions becoming more desperate as Potter continued to make those delicious sounds. _Please, please, more, faster, right there, do that again, right there_. 

Potter kept trying to reach for his own cock, but rather than let him, Draco reached one hand around and began wanking Potter roughly. 

“Like that, do you?” Draco asked, his breath coming out in gasps. 

“Yes, please. More.” Potter began thrusting his own hips into Draco’s hand, seeking desperately the friction that would help provide relief. Draco’s own body followed the motion, as he moved in and out of Potter’s clenching arsehole. 

Potter’s own body became tense, and he reached a hand down to join Draco’s. With the added sensation of another hand—both working furiously, both becoming slick with precome—Potter was on the brink of orgasm. With one last, desperate push, he was spilling all over their joined hands and collapsing on the bed. 

Potter’s climax spurred on Draco’s and his movements became more sporadic; he had a hard time holding himself up. His body felt stretched taut, on the brink of collapsing from the strain. Soon, Draco was coming, his orgasm ripping through his body with a loud moan. He collapsed bonelessly on top of Potter, who had fallen moments before.

\--------------------

In typical Luna fashion, the decorations were all a little hodgepodge and they worked better when Draco didn’t try to peer too closely at any single one of them. Green wreaths adorned every available surface, interspersed with poinsettias that Luna had spelled blue for Merlin-only-knew what reason. There was a large tree floating above guests’ heads, decorated both with those strings of that food that Muggles consumed in buckets at those moofie things, and what looked like some type of large, black bugs. Lights flashed in all colours of the rainbow, creating a disco-ball effect, which did not exactly fit with the Tchaikovsky floating softly from the WWN.

“What a lovely party you’ve got, Luna. Thank you for inviting me.” Draco reached for her hand, and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. 

“Of course, Draco. Thank you for coming; I know that this isn’t your favorite time of the year.” Her knowing eyes sought Draco’s, for they had had previous conversations about why Draco was so averse to the season. After the war, Luna was one of the first people to forgive Draco for what he had done, and at first, Draco couldn’t believe that someone could be so kind. He was wary of any interaction with those who had been on the side that had ultimately defeated old Voldy, but quickly realised that Luna meant what she said. She had become one of his closest confidantes, and Draco would always do anything in his power to make her happy, even coming to her holiday parties. “But, like I mentioned yesterday, I think you’ll be very excited about our guest list, or one guest in particular.” 

Draco wanted to shake his head in frustration; didn’t she know that he couldn’t see more of Potter? Because if he did, his already weak resolve would be at risk of crumbling. 

“Luna,” Draco protested. “I didn’t come because _he_ would be here; I came for you and Rolf.”

“I know, I know” she said gently, placing her hand on Draco’s shoulder for reassurance. “But it’s an added bonus, no?” 

Draco couldn’t help but follow her gaze. Potter was in the middle of a conversation with Gr, no Hermione, and he was laughing one of those types of laughs that made his stomach shake and tears run. It was an unreserved sound that Draco didn’t get to hear enough of, because Draco wouldn’t let himself be the reason that Potter laughed like that. 

“Oh, Draco. I know that you’re trying to protect yourself, but sometimes you have to let yourself have the chance to be fully happy. What you’re doing now, and yes, I know. And no, no one told me. I can tell. It’s obvious how you feel about him. How you feel about each other.” 

Draco shook his head in disagreement, but he knew it was no use. No matter how much he’d tried to deny it was true, the evidence was all around him. It was in the way Potter’s eye lit up when he spotted Draco at a crowded ministry function, the way Draco’s gaze couldn’t seem to focus on anything else when Potter was in a room, and in the way that Draco sometimes let himself be held after they fucked—in the safety and comfort he found in Potter’s arms. He couldn’t deny it any more, for it wasn’t doing any of them any good. 

“Luna, excuse me, but there’s something that I have to do.” A smile broke over her face, the stars on her eyelashes twinkling merrily. 

“Here, I thought you might need this.” She pulled a sprig of mistletoe from where it had been resting behind her ear and handed it to Draco. A fluttery feeling filled Draco’s stomach, and a tingling began to spread through his veins, but these were good things—at least that was what Draco tried to tell himself. It was too late to stop now. Hermione had caught Draco’s eye, and that had got Potter’s attention. Draco strode over to where they were standing by the floating tree, and reached out to grasp Potter’s shoulder. Hermione excused herself, and although they were in a crowded room, Draco didn’t register anything but those green, green eyes. 

“Oh look up there, Potter,” Draco pointed, reaching above Potter’s head and gently releasing the mistletoe. It rose above their heads, and Draco could feel the magic working as he felt drawn towards Potter—or maybe that was just natural. He was the Golden Boy, Saviour of the Wizarding World, after all. 

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Potter asked, a large grin starting to spread over his features, making him look like a kid in Honeydukes for the first time. 

Draco couldn’t even be arsed to care that he found the expression adorable. 

“I don’t know what goes on in that rat’s nest of yours, Potter.” Draco teased, and this felt good; it felt natural. “But I think I might have a good idea.”

“Is this what you wanted?” And Potter reached up to drape his arms around Draco’s neck and he pulled his face down to his. Their lips met in a chaste kiss, and they didn’t hear the slow clapping of their friends. 

_Yes, yes this is what I’ve wanted all along._

\--------------------

His skin felt like it was on fire, the beads of sweat sliding down from his forehead and dripping onto the crimson coloured sheets. Potter’s hands only added to the heat: wherever he touched, it felt like a brand had been burned into Draco’s skin. Currently, one was resting on the nape of his neck and the other was cradling his chin, and the look in Potter’s too-green eyes was too much to bear so Draco buried his head in Potter’s neck.

“Come on now,” Draco teased. “Is that the best that you’ve got?” 

Potter removed his hands from Draco’s face and shoved him backwards on the bed, following him down and ungracefully landing on top of him. Draco couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, but because Potter’s lean form was pressing him into the mattress, it came out as more of an _oomph_. 

“I’ll show you what I’ve got,” Potter growled. He started to reach for Draco’s wrists, grasping them in his warm hands and starting to bring them up towards Draco’s head. Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, and in something more. This was something that they’d talked about, but never something they’d done. Potter noticed Draco’s hesitance. “Is this okay? I’ve never actually done this before, but I know it was something you had previously been interested in.” He looked away in embarrassment. 

Draco’s hidden Hufflepuff heart felt like it couldn’t contain its happiness, and he wanted to reassure Potter that it was okay. 

“Yes, Merlin, yes. Please.” 

Potter immediately grasped Draco’s wrists, and crossed them above Draco’s blond head, and secured them to the bed frame with a wandless _Incarcerous_. Draco could already feel himself reacting to the close presence of Potter, and the wanton displays of power. It also was definitely no hardship to be tied up by Potter and living out one of the fantasies that he’d had since he was 16. Potter paused and leaned in, brushing his lips gently over the tip of Draco’s nose. Draco smiled at the sensation, and Potter brought his lips down to cover Draco’s smile. 

“I can’t believe that I get to do this. Over, and over, and over, again.” Potter had punctuated each of these with another press of his lips to Draco’s own, but Draco wanted more. The next time Potter’s lips touched his own, Draco quickly slipped his tongue in, and deepened the kiss. Potter moaned, and began to rut against Draco. The sensations became overwhelming, and Draco needed something more. 

“Potter, more.” 

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Potter, please,” Draco whined. 

Potter’s eyes darkened. He immediately moved his mouth to the edge of Draco’s jaw, and then further down his body, stopping to suck love bites into the pale skin of Draco’s throat and chest. He spread kisses all over Draco’s scars, a silent apology every time they were revealed. Draco had already forgiven him—had forgiven him the moment he’d woken up and wasn’t dead—but Potter’s hero complex never let him fully accept it. But that was okay in Draco’s opinion, because it meant more kissing. 

Potter slowly began to move towards Draco navel, and then he made it to where Draco was aching with need. Without any warning, Potter took Draco into his mouth, and Draco let out a strangled cry. The wet heat felt incredible, but bloody Potter wasn’t moving. Draco tried to thrust his hips upwards, but Potter placed his hands on Draco’s hips to hold him down. 

“Please, please, Potter.” The words seemed to have little effect on Potter. Draco stayed still, trembling, begging with his body. _“Please.”_ It was a whisper, but Potter heard and began to move his head in earnest. He hollowed his cheeks and took in more, swirling his tongue along the underside of Draco’s cock. 

The sight was almost too much for Draco to bear, and so he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. Potter had removed his mouth from Draco’s shaft and moved to gently sucking on his bollocks, pulling them into his mouth and laving them with his tongue. Draco let out a noise that was somewhere between a whine and a gasp of breath, pulling unsuccessfully at the restraints on his wrists. He wanted to _do_ something more than just lie there—he wanted to touch Potter’s atrocious hair or do something to help bring relief. 

Potter seemed to understand Draco’s need, and began eagerly moving his mouth up and down, his lips and tongue, and a slight brush of teeth, bringing Draco to the edge of pain and pleasure. He continued to suck vigorously, and reached up a hand to fondle Draco’s balls. 

Draco began thrusting his hips upwards, and was soon coming into Potter’s mouth with a loud gasp. Draco sighed and relaxed his body completely. 

“I hope that you enjoyed that, because now it’s my turn.” Potter shot Draco a wicked smile and slowly crawled up the bed. His cock was fully aroused, flushed red and jutting out, getting closer and closer to Draco’s lips. “You’re going to look so good with a mouth full of my cock.” 

If Draco hadn’t just come, his body would be responding immediately to Potter's words. As it was, his cock gave a slight twitch, but remained still. 

“Open up,” Potter commanded. 

Draco opened his lips and eagerly began to lick the precome off the tip of Potter’s shaft. It tasted slightly salty and a little bit sweet, a combination that always served to make Draco’s mouth water. 

“Now, we’re going to do this at my pace. Are we clear?” 

Draco could only nod in response. He worked his throat open just as Potter began thrusting into his mouth in earnest. He hollowed his cheeks, and swallowed as much of Potter’s cock as he could, before Potter removed it completely from his mouth. Potter reached a finger towards Draco’s mouth, wiping off the precome and sticking the digit in his mouth, sucking on it greedily. Draco could only watch in fascination. 

“You have no idea what you look like, do you?” Potter asked softly. “You look so beautiful, so wanton lying there, not being able to do anything but what I want. So eager to take what I give you.” 

“Please, Potter. I want to make you come.” 

Potter’s eyes lit up at that, and he brought his cock back down to Draco’s wet mouth. He began to move his prick in and out, bracing his knees on either side of Draco’s shoulders. His fingers worked their way into Draco’s hair, and he grasped tightly as his movements began to falter. 

Draco could only lie there and engulf as much of Potter as possible, sheathing him in his mouth which each thrust. He worked his tongue around as much as possible, and used his lips to suck harder each time. His jaw began to ache at the same time as Potter’s movements became more erratic. Draco sensed the tightening of Potter’s body that signaled that he was going to come, and soon Draco’s throat was working to swallow the ejaculation. Draco wrapped his lips around Potter’s now-limp cock, sucking all the come off. 

Potter removed his cock with a light pop, and collapsed bodily on top of Draco. 

They lay like that for a few moments, but soon Potter became too heavy for Draco. 

“Potter, you great oaf,” Draco rasped, his throat a bit sore. “Could you please unhand me this instant, and remove yourself from me?” 

Potter wandlessly released Draco’s wrists while rolling off to the left. He pulled Draco’s arm with him, forcing Draco to turn on his side. 

“Oh, so you’re one of those people who likes to cuddle after sex?” 

“Don’t even pretend to deny that you aren’t, Malfoy. I can see straight through your bullshit.” 

Draco smiled to himself at that, and wrapped Potter tighter in his arms. There was no use denying it. As much as Draco once didn’t want it to be so, Potter knew more about him than almost anyone else, and he was surprisingly okay with that. Especially because it meant that there would be more time spent like this, warm and comfortable, shagged within an inch of his life with someone whom he didn’t have to pretend with. It felt like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/76785.html) . ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised @ livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 9th.


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